


the silence between us

by bluspirits



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Blind Character, F/M, Identity Issues, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 20:56:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6626011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluspirits/pseuds/bluspirits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For six weeks, there is a streak of unparalleled violence against the shadows of the city.</p>
<p>For six weeks, there is no one but the devil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the silence between us

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was rereading vol. 2 and thinking, 'wow, Milla deserved better'. This is not that fic. This is more of the Milla continues to have a bad time fic. 
> 
> This takes place during vol. 2 in the gap year discussed in King of the Kitchen. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :D

The house is dead silent. She imagines this might be what darkness is like for sighted people. The absolute absence of input. 

The noise that woke her from bed, steady footsteps downstairs, has since stopped. But she doesn't stop moving towards its source. 

She walks slowly down the stairs, her right hand trailing along the wall. She doesn't need that, knows where she's going, but she does it anyway. 

A cool night breeze brushes her shoulders and she shivers. It feels like a cold hand trailing down her spine. 

She has the inexplicable feeling that something has happened, something has changed. 

She tightens her grip on the knife in her left hand. A small steak knife from the kitchen that is growing slippery with the sweat from her palms, but it's better than nothing. She's been carrying it since Bullseye. She's sure Matt knows, (he's very observant) but he hasn't commented. Considering how worried about her safety he can get, he probably approves. 

The carpet is soft beneath her bare feet as she continues down the stairs. There are seven steps on these stairs, then a landing, and another seven steps. She is on the third step of the second stairs. Fourth step. Fifth step. The house is still silent. Sixth step. She stops here. One step from the first floor. Higher ground. 

There's a rattling deep breath from ahead of her, about five feet away. If silence is darkness, this is the flashlight. 

"Matthew?" she asks. It could be him. He's in and out at the strangest times, but she likes to think he would have noticed her awake and done something to tell her it was him. 

It could also be anyone else. Foggy, Jessica, Luke. Or someone more sinister. She can't tell just from their labored breathing and careful steps. 

They step forward, footsteps muffled by the carpet, but still audible. Milla's left hand opens and closes reflexively around the knife. She pulls her right hand away from its position hovering a bit above the wall and reaches out towards the person. 

They take another step forward into her outstretched hand. Her fingers meet hard collarbone covered in fabric. Daredevil’s costume. It’s Matt, it’s okay. Her left hand relaxes and she moves it behind her back so he might not notice the knife. 

“Matt?” she asks again. Still no answer. She moves her hand up his neck and rests it against his cheek. He leans slightly into the touch. 

His mask is off, and she traces the bones of his face. He still says nothing. 

“Are you alright?” 

Her hand moves up and down with his nod. 

She sighs when she realizes he won’t be saying anything else. Something happened. But he won’t tell. 

“Are you going back out?” another nod. 

He tilts his head, listening, but also away from her hand. Then he steps back and her fingers are left reaching for empty air. Her hand stays outstretched for a few more seconds before she drops it to her side. More steps and he’s gone. At least she thinks he is. She waits another few minutes, and when she still hears nothing she walks back up the fourteen steps to her bed and lays down. 

She can’t sleep. She lies awake there for the rest of the night. Thinking of Matt, the devil, out there, fighting, being hurt. Thinking about his silence, wondering what happened. 

Waiting for him to come home safe. 

Matthew Murdock never comes home. 

The devil is the only one who returns the next day. 

And the day after that. And the day after that. 

For the next six weeks. 

\---

He’s never around at night. Always out, always fighting. Sometimes though, he’s around during the day. But even when he’s home during the day, she doesn’t see much of him. He’s training, or meditating. She can hear him in the basement beating the punching bag into submission sometimes while she’s eating dinner. Can hear him stumbling around the kitchen, attempting to stitch himself up while she gets up in the morning. 

She tries to ignore it. This stranger wandering their house in between his cycles of violence. She can’t decide if she’d like it better if he was never here. But at least this way, she knows he’s alive when he comes in through the window and fills the house with the scent of blood. 

Sometimes they meet. Her coming home from work, walking in the door, to find the devil washing blood from his knuckles in the kitchen. She wraps her arms around him and tries to ignore the way he stiffens and prepares to fight, like she’s a stranger, one of the people he fights in back alleys. He turns back towards her and says nothing. She kisses his forehead and down his face, ignoring the scrapes and blood. 

His fingers tremble when he touches her. They are sticky with sweat and blood, made for violence. They are unsure how to move except to punch, rip and destroy. They don't know how to touch her gently. 

But he tries. God, he tries. 

Tries not to flinch when she runs her hands across his chest, across the newly forming scars and barely healed injuries. Tries not to lash out when she reaches for him, puts her arms around him. 

\---

"I'm not done yet," he says sadly after two weeks of this. "Soon." 

It's the first time he's spoken since this started. His voice is quiet and hoarse, not the low growl she would have expected from the devil. 

She hasn't asked. Hasn't said, "When will you be back? When will this be over? When will you be human again?" But the unspoken questions have been voiced in every touch, every breath, every heartbeat. Of course the devil heard them. He hears everything.

He’s heard her crying, heard her finding excuses to stay away from their house. 

And he still won’t come back. 

“Soon.” she agrees, and for the first time, he wraps his arms around her, initiates contact. It’s the devil, and he is not supposed to be comforting, is supposed to be weapon, a soldier. But he’s trying. Trying to be Matt for her. But the devil can’t do that. Can’t be that. 

She pulls back this time. 

“Come back to me soon.” she says, and hopes that wherever he is, Matt hears her. 

She doesn’t know what to do but let this happen. She steps back, away from the devil. 

“Come back to me soon.” she repeats, hoping that he will.


End file.
